


A Metallic Remembering

by tinypinklion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Canon Backstory, Dumbledore's Army, Missing Scene, POV Neville Longbottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 20:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinklion/pseuds/tinypinklion
Summary: Dumbledore's Army was always incredibly important to Neville. The confidence that he gained there helped him feel like maybe one day he could be as brave as his parents always were. Which is why he always carried around the coin that they had used to announce new meetings, even after it had long grown cold from disuse for the rest of his friends. Until one day, the numbers that announced a new meeting changed again...





	A Metallic Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> At the end of Book 6, Ron and Hermione mention that when they called for the help of the DA to protect the castle, Neville and Luna were the only ones who responded. This is an imagining of the few hours before the final events of Book 6

Neville turned the corner in the corridor at Hogwarts, feeling a flush creep up his neck as he heard the whispered voices and laughter from the group of students he had just passed. It was highly possible that their laughter had nothing to do with him at all, but he could still feel himself emotionally flinch whenever the eyes of his peers lingered for too long on him, a clear scar left behind from his early years at Hogwarts. He reached into his pocket absentmindedly to find the secret coin he had hidden there. His thumb traced circles around its cool surface. It had been a very long time since the Galleons that Hermione had enchanted had grown warm in the way that they so frequently used to during their fifth year at Hogwarts, but Neville still checked it every day, hoping that there would be a sign from his old friends that they wanted to meet again.

 

Neville knew that he wasn't the only one who missed their old D.A. meetings. He and Luna had spoken about it on occasion when they would spend time together. The last time they had spoken about it had been during a walk by the lake.

 

The early morning light had fallen across the water in a way that made it almost look like an image out of an oil painting on that late spring morning. As though the waves lapping lazily against the shore were made of many layers of blue and gray paint. Neville had a slight smile as Luna finished her long explanation of the strange creatures of dubious existence that lived at the bottom of the school's lake. As the years had gone on, he had grown to appreciate Luna for her creative mind and loyal nature and thought of her as one of his closest friends. 

 

They walked along the water’s edge for a moment in companionable silence before he said "Do you ever miss it? The D.A. meetings, I mean." She paused for a moment before answering "Yes, I do. Though I suspect we miss them for different reasons."

 

Neville stared at the sky as he thought about this response. If he or Luna were to tell anyone else how much they missed the old D.A. meetings they would likely think it was because the two of them were lonely, and while it was true that that was a part of it, he knew in his heart that wasn't the whole of it for either of them. Knowing Luna, he suspected that what she truly missed about the D.A. meetings was the rush of learning something new and the happy kind of tiredness that came from working long and hard at something you cared deeply about. However, she was right that they missed the D.A. for different reasons.

 

It was true that being a member of the D.A. had brought him new friends and a sense of community, but the real value that it had brought to his life was the confidence it had given him. When he was participating in the D.A. meetings, he had felt braver and stronger than ever before. The sense that he belonged to an effort greater than himself had made him swell with pride. He remembered lying awake in his bed late into the night, long after they had all left the room of requirement, imagining the looks of pride that would shine on his mother and fathers’ faces if they knew that he was learning to help protect his friends in the same way that they had protected theirs.

 

“Tapeworm,” he muttered to the Fat Lady absentmindedly as he approached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. As she swung open to reveal the common room, he thought about his mother and father. He had only been a baby when they were attacked by Bellatrix LeStrange and her cronies. His heart began to thump angrily in his ears at the thought of his parents suffering at the hands of the Death Eaters. Throughout his childhood, he was raised on a steady dose of stories about his parent’s bravery. Their work as aurors and eventual membership with the DA had made his Grandmother incredibly proud, and she never failed to remind him how brave and adventurous they were. He suspected that her intention had originally been to give him an image of his parents that he could strive to emulate as he got older, but her insistence that they were “the most brave and true Gryffindors to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts” only deepened the anxiety he had around his own worth. In his mind, his parents were these brave and enigmatic forces of good in the world before the tragedy that stole their minds from them. How could he ever hope to measure up?

Reaching his dorm, he went to the end of his bed and opened his trunk. Swiftly, before the other boys in the room could notice, he pulled out the old coffee tin he had hidden in the bottom right corner underneath his other belongings, jumped onto his four poster bed, and pulled the curtains around him for privacy. He knew that the contents of the old coffee tin would appear strange to the outside observer and didn’t want to try to explain it to anyone. He could hear Dean and Seamus talking quietly to each other about their classes as they left to go spend the evening in the common room, and let go a sigh of relief once he had the room to himself. 

 

Slowly, he opened the tin and began to empty its contents onto the bed. It still smelled slightly of old coffee grounds even after all these years. Across his worn blanket he laid a series of small, wrinkled candy wrappers and an old image of his parents. In the image, his mother and father looked lovingly up into each other’s eyes as they held a newborn Neville in their arms. The smiles on their faces were so wide that their eyes crinkled up in the corners. Neville loved looking at this picture, and imagining that his family was once happy, healthy, and together.

 

Over the years, he had made a tradition of bringing his mother and father a handful of sweets when he would visit them. He had learned early on that the pain of his mother and father not recognizing him as their son never really went away, but that they were more likely to recognize him at the very least as the boy who brought them treats if he visited them as often as he could during the week. Even on the days when they didn't recognize him at all, it was enough to watch his mother's green eyes light up with something close to life when he would reveal the secret treasures hidden inside his palm. 

 

On his mother's better days, she would shuffle down the hall after him and his grandmother in her slippers and robe and hand him a small, wrinkled candy wrapper. His grandmother had never understood why he kept every wrapper she gave him. To her, they had always been a reminder that the torture her daughter had endured had dulled her once sharp mind. But to Neville, they were an example of his mother giving him everything she was able to give: a moment of her time and a small thank you in the form of a candy wrapper. 

 

Looking up, he realized that the room was dark. It seemed as though, lost in his thoughts, the hours had slipped away from him. Sighing heavily, he began to tidy the wrappers back into the tin and get ready for bed. As he placed his robes down on his trunk for the next day, he pulled the small galleon out of his pocket and jumped into bed. Lying on top of his blankets he traced the edge of the cool metal where the dates used to appear with his thumb. As he stared up at the ceiling he felt the coin suddenly grow warm in his hand. 

 

Sitting up quickly, he flicked his wand and whispered “Lumos,” staring intently at the numbers etched into the side of the coin. The numbers had changed to read 2330-30-6-1997. That was today's date and time, almost to the minute! He jumped out of bed and hurriedly threw on his clothes and shoes, remembering to grab his wand from where he had left it on his bed as he rushed out the door. It was time to head to the Room of Requirement. 

 

It was time for another adventure.


End file.
